Not for long, though. I am already falling into a routine - getting up early for the bell and assembling with everyone. Then we receive the schedule for the day from the Lieutenant. Entire day of training, break for food, sculpting my face, then sleep.
After a few days of this, Owl approaches me - I immediately notice something is different. His mask is now metal, though surprisingly, aside from being metal, it still looks the same.
Walking up, he asks, "Well? How is it?" I answer, "Looks about the same to me." his head tilts again almost like a real owl, "But it's metal, don't you see?" he begs for acknowledgement as he taps it with his fingers.
"I noticed. I just don't know what's the big deal." His plea denied, he continues to bargain for some praise, "That means I'm not as green as you anymore. You're still faceless, after all." He puts his hands on his hips, striking a proud and triumphant pose, as if he won something.
"Ah, my mask? It's almost ready. Either way, why are you acting like you're a veteran? Isn't this still your first month here?"
Owl's victory pose disintegrates as he looks around for nothing in particular, momentarily stumbling for a good answer, he shrugs, "So what? We might be the same rank, but I'm still your superior by two weeks. That, and you still haven't managed to beat me in hand to hand."
I snicker and try to conceal my grin as I hear that, a mask would be helpful now, as Owl exclaims, in mildly upset tone "What's so funny?" only making me snort harder.
Owl really came off as a younger guy before, but now he left an impression of being just a kid, desperately trying to gain recognition of someone older than him, arguing about seniority; he's clearly not doing this as an attempt to gain some form of authority, just simple approval.
Much like twins, arguing who's the 'big' one, because one is a few minutes or hours older than the other. It does make his attempts comedic, as I'm far too old for arguments like this. Though, considering how my family turned out to be...
I have to admit I find this much more preferable. It makes him relatable and frankly, endearing. It's funny, I barely know this guy, yet I feel stronger familial bond to him, than to my actual family.
*snap snap snap*
"Hey, you in there?" Owl's fingers snap in front of my face, apparently I started staring off into space thinking about the past, and him. "Yeah. Alright Owl, you're the boss." I say, still slightly amused and ask, "So, what's the schedule, again? You knocked it out of my head."
"Right now - blade training with the bastard Sergeant, then target practice with Cat topside. Then, back down to Sergeant Snake for wilderness training."
"Snake?" Picture of a man scribbling something in a ledger flashes in my head, "Wasn't he the Quartermaster?" I ask. "Yeah, he is. Teaches wilderness survival, medicine, poisons, so on."
My memory jogged, I nod, and we head for Sergeant Boar's den. We were handed wooden daggers, otherwise not much changed, compared to hand to hand practice.
The daggers, while paradoxically wooden and blunt, are sharp enough enough to cause significant pain on a good thrust. Perhaps by malicious design. Not a minute goes by where the Sergeant isn't screaming at somebody, but it seems his attention has mostly shifted away to greener recruits.
For sake of training, we've been told to avoid stabbing the throat, but that doesn't stop Owl from sneaking a stab in under my arm, stomach, ribs, thigh; everywhere a stab would be lethal or at very least dangerous, he seems to have no issue getting there.
On the other hand, while I have a lot less trouble poking him here and there than I had trying to throw him, it's very clear that Owl is running circles around me. The training concludes, and Owl gives me some advice on how to do better next time, but I can't help but feel like the gap between us is only widening, not narrowing.
That is, until I get to try my hand at archery with Lieutenant Cat. The Lieutenant is very remarkable - he's almost the antithesis of Sergeant Boar. Instead of screaming, he almost whispers. Instead of embarrassing you in front of everyone else, he beckons you to the side and asks you, "What do you think you are doing wrong?" forcing you to think about your mistakes and possible solutions.
My experience with a bow almost feels like cheating during this training, the targets up close are child's play. Another recruit claimed to have been an archer in the military, and claims to have some experience with a bow as well, but when the Lieutenant takes us to a far end of the redoubt's courtyard and tells us to hit a target all the way across, he scoffs at the idea. "That's not possible." He declares.
But the Lieutenant insists that we try, disagreeing with the recruit. The recruit draws his bow and lets an arrow loose at the tiny target; at this range, no bigger than a man's head - if the man was half a thumb's size. Very difficult, but not impossible shot.
His arrow misses by a couple paces. He curses out at nobody and nothing in particular. By no means it was a bad shot. Indeed, if this was a battlefield and he was shooting at a formation of men, it's likely he would have just now nailed one of them. For a military man, this was an obvious success, not a failure.
The Lieutenant says nothing, but looks at me. His another peculiar trait; he doesn't need to say anything to get the idea across. I take my stance, focus on the tiny target for a moment, draw, taking note of the wind, or rather lack thereof.
I let the bowstring go as clean as possible, the arrow flutters away as it takes flight, arcing heavily. It impacts the target with an audible thwack.
Both the recruit and the Lieutenant look at me; the recruit is clearly in shock, while the Lieutenant, after a moment of silence, nods and tells me to help other recruits struggling to hit the close targets we both skipped over, as Lieutenant tells him to try hitting the difficult one again.
I can't help but grin slightly as I walk back to the rest of the recruits. Some are doing better than others, but Owl is completely hopeless.
"What's the matter Owl, not doing too well?" I ask, finally at very least able to overall catch up to him a little. Being able to hide behind a mask wouldn't help me much; the smugness in my voice is clear.
"Ahh, finally found the one thing you're good at, huh? How do I stop these from swerving off to the damn side?" He asks, not hiding his displeasure. Despite my helpful attitude, I simply want to rub his failings into his face for a little bit.
After a moment, it's very quick and easy to identify what Owl is doing wrong - it's like he never shot a bow before. His grip is all wrong and the release is too sluggish; once I show him how to shoot a bow properly, he seems to be able to semi-consistently hit the easier targets. Still needs a lot of practice, though.
While Owl is clumsily trying to hit what he's aiming at, I look over the rest of the recruits. Some of them are simply tensing up too much, some are overdrawing, some have a bad grip. I look around a bit to see who else I can help, and I notice Lieutenant Cat staring at me. I don't know when, but it looks like he walked up just to watch me teach the others.
He says nothing, and simply continues observing. The recruit from before seems to have finally hit the long shot, too. I shoot a couple arrows myself, out of boredom, next to the recruits, and it isn't long before the Lieutenant informs everyone that the training is over, and we should head back down.
Owl can't believe hunting deer is all it took for me to be able to teach others how to shoot a bow, but what am I supposed to say? It's his choice. We make it to Sergeant Snake's 'training' room, if it can even be called that. It's full of chairs and tables facing a lectern on the opposite side of the room, the Sergeant is already waiting for the room to fill up. We sit down and wait.
The Sergeant starts, and it immediately dawns on me that this 'training' is quite literally, just a lecture. It drags on and on as he explains the difference between edible mushrooms and poisonous ones, as well as how to utilize them for poisons. He cautions us to boil water if possible before drinking, and to not drink water that is crystal clear, with seemingly no fish or any sign of life in it.
The training sessions are all more or less equal length, but Sergeant Snake's mumbling devoid of any energy drags on and on for seemingly hours and hours. His voice only gains some life when the topic of venomous snakes crops up, but it does nothing to stave off our boredom. And just as something vaguely interesting begins - field medicine, he stops himself.
He declares the training for the day is over, and we should go get food. It seems the Sergeant is about as disappointed as I am that he didn't get to finish that part, but there's no helping it. Owl and I head out with the rest to the mess room.
Today's meal is some form of mashed turnips, unpleasant flavor, but palatable. I understand now, what Owl meant, when he said 'lucky'. I ask him about today, and completely unsurprisingly, he was bored out of his mind by Sergeant Snake as well. Some inconsequential chatter later, the bell rings, we assemble, and I return to my room.
I still have plenty of time left, but I decided today is the day I stop being faceless. With only dim torchlight from the outside of the room to aid me, I continue sculpting away the last touches on my mask. It's looking good so far, the horns give it a distinct identity and the rest of the mask is shaped into an ominous beast face. I went as far as considering my field of vision when wearing it, so it looks a little more stylized than true to life.
I blow on the mask in vain effort to take some woodchips off, perhaps maybe to breathe some life into it, and satisfied, I finally lay down to rest. Today wasn't particularly physically demanding, so I take some time to actually fall asleep. My mind wanders once again.
Every day, I feel like I belong more and more. Tomorrow, I'll show Lieutenant Wolf the mask I made. Will I be like Owl, with his wooden mask? The thought of being indistinguishable yet clearly recognizable fills me with wonder, every day I pass multiple animals - wolves, foxes, cats, dogs, there's even a bat, owl, boar, bear.
A wolf is a wolf, a fox is a fox; they're the same. And yet, somehow, I can recognize that wolf is not the other wolf. I see a fox passing me in the hallway, and I know which fox it is exactly. There's quite a lot of us here, yet not all that many. It's all managable.
As I stare at the dark ceiling, I drown deeper and deeper in the bog of philosophy. What makes us human anyway? How do we recognize eachother? The hair? The voice? The posture? The way you carry yourself?
The face? That can't be it. The only faces I can see, are the ones of the completely green recruits - and I only recognize them because they stick out from the rest. And yet, I recognize the others. And then it strikes me - the face.
What made me recognizable from the rest, on the outside? My face. A single glance at me could tell someone I'm not the toothless drunk outside the tavern, nor that I'm the bearded merchant peddling foreign goods. Even if there is someone similar, a good hard look would help discard any thoughts that we're the same person.
Outside, inside - nothing changed. I now realize it, the reason I recognize one wolf from the other is because of their face, each is unique. Of course, there's only so many wolves I can remember, but what's a two or three? Especially if they look so vastly different.